


You're The Sunflower

by thejollymilano



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Don't copy to another site, Gen, aaron davis (mentioned) - Freeform, confronting racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-29 23:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17817482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejollymilano/pseuds/thejollymilano
Summary: When Miles Morales holds his first art show, not everything goes as planned and he has to face more than just anxiety. Luckily he's got two parents and another Spider-Person mentor to support him.





	You're The Sunflower

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I was a little nervous posting this one, because it deals with a sensitive topic I'm not used to writing but I think needs to be talked about more. Please read with an open mind, and constructive criticism is always welcomed. Here's some music that inspired me while writing this fanfiction, and that sets the tone: Yellow Light by Of Monsters and Men, Keep Your Head Up by Ben Howard, There Will Be Time by Mumford & Sons and of course, Sunflower by Post Malone and Swae Lee.
> 
> Shout out to @amysavenue for being so kind and encouraging. There's no way I could finish this without your endless support. I love you, my friend!

**_I know you're scared of the unknown, you don't wanna be alone. I know I always come and go, but it's out of my control. And you'll be left in the dust, unless I stuck by ya. You're the sunflower.”_ **

Even when he was a little kid, music and art was Miles Morales’s escape. It’s what spiked curiosity and wonder in his little, naive mind:  _if he could create something so unique as this, what more could he do?_

Ten years or so down the road, he’s a spider-person and holding his first art show. If that wasn’t the “more” he was dreaming about as a kid, he wasn’t sure what more it could be.

He nervously tapped his foot as he hung his art on the wall that was given to him. He was used to people seeing his work, but not like this; when people saw his work, it was usually his stickers or art on the subway. This would be the first time he’d be  _formally_  showing his own creative art to a crowd of people with a critical eye.  _Yeah, definitely an upgrade from the subway, that’s for sure._

Feeling his anxiety start to spike, he resisted the urge to grab the headphones he had dangling from his neck and place them on his ears, and let music drown his nerves. Instead, he settled for subtly dancing on his heel. The next two days were going to be insane while he participated in the school’s art gallery.

Before he knew it, the doors opened and a sea of people walked in. He saw mostly parents and grandparents coming to see their kids that were also showing off their art at his school’s art gallery. Watching his fellow students being praised and supported by their families made him regret not telling his parents about tonight; sure, his dad was opening up to Miles’s interest but Miles wasn’t about to test his limits yet. But still, it would’ve been nice to have someone there for him.

‘ _Little late for that, Morales,’_ Miles thought, feeling his spirits dampened slightly. He started to focus on other things to occupy his mind, like the different art styles of the other students. How most of them used water color or charcoal, a stark contrast to his spray paint and high lighters. Then he noticed that he was the only one wearing a hoodie and Jordan’s, everyone else was dressed formally in suits and dresses.  _This really was just his luck._

In an attempt to calm himself, Miles tried to imagine that he wasn’t there, that instead he really was in the subway. And he wasn’t surrounded by tons of people - it was just him and his uncle Aaron.  _They’d be laughing, having a good time and his uncle would be thrilled that Miles is exploring his talent with art. Miles knew that his uncle would love to be there for him tonight_. He tried to think of what his uncle would do in this situation - Miles always thought of his uncle Aaron as fearless, and he so badly wanted to be exactly that for the next hour.

A few of the older folk in the crowd took one disapproving glance at his art style and moved on, making Miles’s heart drop further into his chest. He felt panic begin to bubble, and right as he thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, a group of people had finally decided to waltz up to see his art. Although these were people his own age, the jocks of the school and strive on trying to make themselves feel big, and of course, the four guys with girls attached to them at the hip all had pale skin.

Miles could barely hear the teenagers’ snickering as they laughed at his spray paint, and then his untied, rundown Jordan’s. He could barely hear their insults because blood was pounding in his ears as he tried to maintain his anger and anxiety all at once. ‘ _Be cool, man,_ ’ he tried telling himself. ‘ _Just be chill. If I sucker punch them, there’s no way they’ll keep my art in the show.’_

It wasn’t until they muttered the cruel, disgusting words of “ _Go back to where you came from,_ ” that Miles snapped. He could handle a lot of things: changing schools, overbearing dads, buses being thrown at him, portals to alternate realities ... But this was not on the list of things he would put up with.  _Screw it. Uncle Aaron wouldn’t want him to let this slide._ He _didn’t want to let this slide._

“What’d you just say?” Miles said in a low voice. The punk just snickered and opened his mouth to say something else, but Miles wasn’t going to give him the chance. “I’m right where I’m supposed to be, asshole. And I ain’t about to let some punk who thinks he’s better than everybody else tell me otherwise, or dis my art. I worked too hard for this to let some arrogant kid put me down.”

Not caring about the crowd that had formed around him, Miles turned around and tore his posters from the wall before shoving his way through the sea of people. He ignored their curious whispers as he ran outside and jumped down the school steps; he was so heated and caught up in the moment that he didn’t see a familiar spider-person that was standing in that crowd, watching the whole ordeal go down with sorrowful, fury filled eyes.

* * *

 

Miles rushed home, thankful that his parents were out on one of their rare date nights. Not caring about the noise he was making, he fumbled his way inside and threw open his bedroom door which loudly hit the wall (he began praying in the back of his mind that it didn’t leave a mark). Tossing his art on his desk, he furiously shrugged off his clothes and changed into his spider suit.

He need to clear his head. He needed to get out of this place.

Cracking his window open, he grabbed his backpack that held his sketchbook and some art supplies. He quickly crawled out before shutting it closed; and then he was free. Free to fly, free to roam the wondrous city - free from his life temporarily.

Hoping that there would be no danger that’d need stopping, or people that needed saving for one night, he swung from building to building. The exhilaration and rush of adrenaline that came with swinging across the tall buildings drowned out his frustration and embarrassment. For a few moments, he wasn’t a kid who had a cop as a dad yet was a secret vigilante, he wasn’t a teenage artist that was looked down on because his art and clothing style was different - he was just himself, but  _more_.

Miles swung until he reached one of his favorite buildings to sit on top of; it was centrally located to look over the entire city. He sat on one of the gargoyles, letting his feet dangle over the bright city lights and sighed. He didn’t like feeling this way - frustrates, angry,  _scared_. He’s seen what bitterness can do to people, and he’s never wanted that for himself. He wanted to  _be more_.

He was about to pull out his sketchbook when a familiar voice sounded behind him, “Rough night, kid?”

Miles turned around and almost fell off the gargoyle when he saw who it was,  _because it couldn’t possibly be him! He must’ve been dreaming._  He stood up and blinked a few times, trying to make himself see clearly, but alas, he was still there. “Peter?”

“Did you miss me?” He grinned, his arms open wide. Miles laughed, feeling relief, shock and disbelief replace his previous sorrow. Tears welling up in the corners of his eyes from the nights’ events and purely missing his friend, Miles leaped into his open arms.

“Where you’ve been, old man? And how are you here? What-” Miles rambled after they broke the quick reunion embrace.

“It’s a  _long_  story, believe me. All you need to know right now is I got another portal open, but it’s ... different than the last one. I’ll have to show it to you later,” His mentor and friend explained quickly, shrugging his shoulders and tossing the thought aside like that wasn’t what he wanted to talk about. “What have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know me,” Miles shrugged his shoulders, quickly wiping the corners of his eyes, a smile still on his lips as simple contentment overrode his anxiety. “Causing trouble left and right, being New York’s finest vigilante-”

“Yeah, ha-ha,” Peter rolled his eyes. “How about that art show? That looked rough.”

Miles hesitated, his smile faltering and he nervously scratched his ear. “You saw?”

“I saw,” He confirmed gravely. Miles turned on his heel, letting his hands rest on the back of his head. Peter sighed before continuing, “Is that the first time you’ve dealt with jerks like them?”

Miles scoffed, feeling his heart drop just  _thinking_  about it, “Definitely not. And it won’t be the last either.”

“Miles-” Peter began, but Miles was letting out the frustration he was holding in. Miles turned around sharply, waving his hands around nervously as he talked.

“Do you  _know_  what they said, Peter?” He burst out, feeling his throat swell and tears well up in his eyes again. “I don’t care that they were laughing at my art, I mean it sucks, but I can take that. But they treated me like I’m lesser than them, Pete,” His voice cracked, but he raised his voice louder despite that as he let out everything he was holding back. “They didn’t just treated me like the dirt on the bottom of their shoes ‘cause my style is different than than theirs - they did it because they didn’t see me as an artist or fellow student back there. All they saw was someone with a different skin color, and they used that as if it’s-” Miles stopped for a second, taking a shuttering breath. “They used my skin as a reason to  _judge me,_  not who I am or my ideas.  _My skin_.”

Miles turned silent for a few moments, counting his rigid breaths to try and even them. He could feel his mentor’s perceptive gaze on him as he marched across the gargoyle, but he did not speak up which Miles was internally grateful for. Peter was giving him the time he needed to let out everything that was bottled up and weighing heavy on his heart.

Miles sighed, a hand ruffling his hair anxiously as he continued, “I know I can be sensitive, but I also know that what happened  _wasn’t_  okay. Things like this that happen every day, are  _not_  okay. And I don’t want to just let this slide, Peter.  _I can’t let this slide._ When I became a Spider-Person, I promised myself that I would help everyone I could, regardless of who they are or their background. And that just got me thinking - how would those jerks at the art show react if they found out that I’m New York’s new Spider-Man?”

“Well, Miles,” Peter spoke up and Miles didn’t interrupt this time, feeling defeated. “Spider-Person or not, you did the right thing. You’re right, we can’t let things like this slide. I know we’re more used to battling muggers or evil villains and time portals, but part of the fight is standing up for what’s right. And that goes for when you’re not wearing the mask, as well. You did the right thing, Miles, and I’m proud of you,” Peter clapped his hand on his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter who you are, anybody can be a Spider-Person, anyone can wear the mask. But one of the hardest battles we’ll ever have to fight is this one. And not everybody’s going to agree with you, not everybody is going to be changed because that’s sadly just how they are. But standing up against gross people like you did tonight makes all the difference. When you fight for what’s right, it inspires others to do the same thing, kid.”

Miles wiped away the few tears that rolled down his cheeks, taking in what his mentor just said and allowing himself not to shun away what he felt. “This all just  _sucks_. I don’t know if I can even go back tomorrow night. I mean, if I can’t even go to an art show without either freaking out or letting some jerks rile me up, maybe I’m not fit for this after all.”

“Sure, you can!” Peter patted his back comfortingly as Miles continued taking deep breaths. “You said it yourself at the show - you’ve worked hard for this. You’re right where you belong, buddy. You have a ton of talent and bright future ahead of you; don’t let some punks take that away from you, Miles.”

“Alright, well if I  _do_  go, I don’t think I’d want to go back alone. I don’t want to face round two by myself again,” Miles said, his throat dry.

“Does your family know that this is going on?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Nope,” Miles shrugged. “My mom would be chill about it, but my dad is still opening up to it all. Things have been better since you guys went back to your dimensions, but change is a slow process, y’know?”

“Yeah, I get that,” Peter nodded understandingly. “You can bet I’ll be there, but you should talk to them. Trust me, kid, when things like this go down or you’re doing something big like  _holding your first art gallery_ , you’re gonna want your family there to support you.” Miles didn’t say anything, his eyes pointed at his feet but a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Speaking of which, come on, let’s get you home. It’s getting late and I’m sure your parents are going to start wondering where you are soon.”

* * *

 

The next night, Miles looked himself over in the school’s bathroom mirror. Just like the night before, he felt nervous, but it was  _different_. It felt less like the end of the world, because he wasn’t alone this time.

After he had returned home and sneaked through his bedroom window, Miles quickly changed into his pajamas and cracked open his door. His parents had came back from their date and were watching the T.V, but turned it off when Miles said he wanted to talk to them. He was nervous as he told them about the art gallery, and felt guilty when he saw their shock; when he told them about what happened with the teenagers, they were livid yet level headed as they comforted him and gave him the advice and support he needed from them. But most of all, he was relieved when they told him they would go with him the next night.

He wasn’t alone this time around; he had his parents and another Spider-Person/friend/mentor that had his back through it all. And with their support and his determination, he knew he could face whatever was waiting for him outside. Gathering up his courage and wearing a real, lazy smile, he marched out the door wearing his favorite hoodie and untied Jordan’s, his headphones sitting comfortably around his neck.

He put his hands in his pockets, and rolled on his heels again as the people poured into the room. However, unlike the previous night where the attendees were primarily parents and grandparents, tonight he recognized a lot of people from his school. Feeling even more at ease knowing these people and knowing the ones in the crowd were mostly friendly faces, he felt proud when people walked up to his art wall. They admired his works and asked questions such as, where he got inspiration ( _“I like to turn on music and let my surroundings spark up something,”_ ) and how long he’d been into art (“ _As soon as I could keep a crayon on the paper and out of my mouth, I was hooked,_ ” they laughed at this).

“What do you call this one?” A student pointed to a bright, yellow work - the one that felt most proud of.

“I call it ‘ _Sunflower_ ,’” Miles smiled. When they asked the meaning of it, he continued, “Named it after my favorite song. It’s for my uncle, ‘cause he’s the one who inspired me to explore art more. This one is to show that sometimes you need to pushed to your limits in order for something beautiful to come out of it - kinda like the sunflower, that grows in tough weather.” He never told anyone that before, but when he saw the inspiration spark in their eyes, he felt a sense of humility overcome him.

His parents were in the next group that wandered up to him, and he his heart lifted significantly at seeing their pride.

“Miles,” His mom gaped, her eyes dancing as they darted between his art. “We are so, so proud of you. _¡Te quiero, mucho!_ ”

“ _¡Gracias, mamá!_ ” Miles smiled as his mom hugged him tightly.

“I told you before, Miles. There’s this spark in you. Whatever you choose to do with it, you'll be great. And well,” His dad smiled as he nodded to his art. “You’re doing pretty great, son. I’m proud of you.”

Miles felt utter contentment fill him, knowing that his dad supports him,  _is proud of him_ , even though they may have their differences. Miles wrapped his arms around his dad’s middle, hugging him tightly and said, “I love you, dad.” He wasn’t embarrassed for a second.

“I love you, too,” Jefferson Davis gave a content, shaky breath and returned the embrace. His family stayed at his art wall for a while longer, admiring his talent while Miles talked with others and answered questions; he would meet their eyes from time to time and felt adored under their prideful eyes. His parents eventually walked around the room to see the other artists, but he could sense their love and support nonetheless.

Miles saw Peter in another group of people that were gaping at his art, and he beamed brightly.

“Not too bad, kid,” Peter grinned.

“I try my best,” He shrugged a shoulder jokingly.

“So,” His smile stayed on his lips as he raised an eyebrow. “Are you glad you decided to come back tonight?”

Miles glanced around at his surroundings, taking in the excitement of being admired for his talent. People and fellow students were gaping at his art and didn’t care about his style; these people were praising his creativity. His parents were here, and he couldn’t have been happier. But most of all, even though the anger of last night still lingered, he felt hopeful - he would not let anything like that slide, he would stand up for what’s right and inspire others to do the same. And that could make all the difference.

“Yeah,” Miles answered truthfully. “I am.”

**_THE END._ **


End file.
